


Pivotal Moments in a Shifting Universe

by orchidluv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidluv/pseuds/orchidluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles' thoughts about Xander over the course of several years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pivotal Moments in a Shifting Universe

**Author's Note:**

> references to past m/f & m/m relationships

Season 1 - post-The Pack

Giles patted Xander’s shoulder awkwardly and watched the boy slouch off down the school walkway. He shook his head and smiled at his own foolishness as the shambling figure retreated. Xander was back in his normal clothes: the shirt a hideous blue and black polyester, the pants two sizes too big; the boy even more uncomfortable in his own skin than usual after his behavior over the past few days. 

It seemed only fair to agree that he wouldn’t tell Buffy and Willow that Xander remembered every moment of his possession by the hyena primal. Giles was certainly going to do his level best to practice his own form of amnesia about the recent events.

He’d been utterly dismissive when Buffy had come to him, insisting that something was wrong with Xander. He’d brushed her off, saying that Xander was simply acting like a teenage boy, unwilling to admit or even acknowledge his own reaction to Xander as the boy had walked across the school courtyard earlier, much less dwell on the subject of Xander’s new persona.

Seeing Xander like that: predatory, dark and dangerous, had been like meeting Ethan Rayne for the first time all over again. Not in looks, of course, but in attitude. Ethan had been all swagger and cool insolence, his every move and gesture proclaiming his arrogant self-confidence. One look from Ethan across a pub and Giles had followed him straight into hell, intoxicated by the power that radiated from the other man. Ethan had been the quintessential bad-boy and Giles had been a fool. A wanna-be rebel, he’d instantly recognized the real thing in Ethan, who’d been everything his younger self thought he wanted to be. Ethan had been the embodiment of what Giles had been seeking when he left Oxford, determined to reject his destiny as a Watcher. And during those reckless, irresponsible months in London, Ethan had lived up to every dark promise Giles had felt at that first meeting, and then some. 

Until now, Xander had been nothing more than an unnecessary distraction for his Slayer, something Buffy inexplicably refused to give up. The boy had been merely a symptom of the difficulty he was having with a Slayer who didn’t conform to expectations, a Chosen One who was a willful teenager and not a well-trained killing machine like Slayers were supposed to be. Willow had proved useful with her computer skills and obvious intelligence, but Xander was more hindrance than help, despite his eagerness and his bumbling attempts to be useful.

But that glimpse across the courtyard of a Xander who moved with grace and power, whose watchful dark eyes were those of a sovereign surveying newly conquered territory, had riveted him in place and Giles had stared unabashedly, hungrily watching the boy. Xander’s every move and gesture had held raw sexual allure and Giles hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away, until the sensation of his prick swelling in his trousers had returned him to sanity and sent him scuttling for the safety of the library and the librarians’ equivalent of a cold shower - cross-indexing. 

He had been absolutely appalled to realize he’d gotten an erection just from watching the boy cross the school courtyard. Not only was he old enough to know better, he was old enough to be arrested. Lusting after a 16-year old boy was utterly beyond the pale. To do it at the school where he was in a position of authority endangered his job, his reputation, and his freedom. But most of all, it endangered his carefully crafted persona: the perfect Watcher, who observed but never interacted. Bad enough that Buffy was making it so difficult to stay in his pre-determined role, he absolutely would not countenance Xander having that effect on him. 

Like Xander, Giles had every intention of forgetting that brief moment of hyena-induced insanity.

Xander was a likeable boy, if utterly incomprehensible with his pop-culture references and steady stream of low-brow jokes. But Giles was here as Watcher to the Slayer. He simply would not permit himself to be distracted from his role, or allow a teenage boy to remind him of events from his own past that were better left buried. Recalling his embarrassing physical reaction, Giles resolved to distance himself from Xander in the future. Far better to push the boy away than to risk another incident like yesterday’s, he told himself firmly.

The matter settled in his mind, Giles ignored the twinge of regret and headed for the library, his thoughts resolutely concentrated on the next step in his Slayer’s training schedule.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Season 2 - post-The Dark Ages

Giles stared into the glass, turning the tumbler in his hand as if the amber liquid inside held the secrets to the universe - which he knew bloody well it didn’t.

He’d poured himself the drink well over an hour ago, but still hadn’t tasted it. He should simply pour the amber liquid down the drain, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that either. Not only because it was an expensive single-malt, but because the oblivion it offered was so tempting.

Jenny wasn’t speaking to him. He’d tried again today and she had given him a blistering look, though her words had been polite enough, reminding him that she needed time.

It had been two weeks since he’d brought Eyghon into her life, nearly getting her killed and exposing her to his dark past, and it was beginning to look more and more like she wasn’t going to be able to accept the darkness that wound through his soul.

Seeing Ethan again…. Twice now in barely a month, after more than twenty years of trying to forget him, years spent immersing himself in the Council and its ways. Re-creating himself, forcing himself back into the Watcher mold until it no longer felt like a straight-jacket. Years spent hiding from everyone behind manners and tweed and a cloak of respectability. Twenty years’ work undone in a single moment. Destroyed by the sound of a once-familiar, gravelly-voiced greeting: “Hello, Ripper.”

Ethan wasn’t the only one who called him Ripper, but he was the only one whose use of the name still sent a shiver down his spine and made his cock twitch. 

Pavlov’s fucking dog, he thought savagely, defiantly downing the scotch in a single gulp, feeling it burn its way down to his stomach, while leaving the rest of him feeling colder than he had before. Still reacting predictably to the sound of Ethan’s voice even after twenty years.

His past had come back to haunt him. Literally, in the form of dead friends and animated corpses. Figuratively, in the unwanted reminders of events he had spent twenty years trying to forget. What had Ethan called him? “Sniveling, tweed-clad guardian of the Slayer?” Ethan was right - it really was quite a little act he had going here. He’d hidden his true nature from everyone around him, Buffy most of all, Jenny certainly. They all saw him as the dull, bumbling librarian. Old. A man incapable of even asking a woman he was attracted to out on a date.

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t function if they learned the whole truth; not as Watcher, nor as the surrogate father-figure they all needed him to be. Buffy had admitted that the fleeting glimpse of the Ripper that she’d seen in his apartment had frightened her. She’d never accept that, in many ways, that was who he still was: a man capable of beating an old friend to death to get the answers he needed, who’d practiced sex-magic and demon-summoning for thrills, and who sometimes thought he’d go mad if he didn’t claw his way out of this false persona he’d so carefully crafted, and show them all who he truly was. The man who’d wanted to fuck Ethan almost as badly as he’d wanted to beat him into unconsciousness.

None of them would understand. They didn’t have that kind of ruthlessness in them. Buffy and the others were still so young; Jenny, for all her techno-pagan talk, essentially an innocent dabbler, barely aware of the existence of the darkness that he’d once bathed so willingly in. 

Giles found he was pouring himself another glass and raised it in a mocking toast to the mess he’d made of his life. That they’d all made of their lives. Philip, Deidre, Thomas, and Randall - all dead now. Ethan and Ripper the only two left of their sordid little band of hedonists. 

He leaned his head back against the chair and, for the first time in years, willingly allowed himself to picture them in his head:

Deidre with her waist-length red hair and generous breasts, the only woman in their little club, a tireless and inventive lover, as wild and reckless as any of them. Philip’s bushy beard creating sensations Giles still vividly remembered today when he teasingly dragged the bristly mass across the dripping head of Ripper’s prick. Thomas’ stocky frame twisting beneath him, his strong hands leaving bruises on Ripper’s hips that had lasted for days. Randall, the prankster, whose booming laugh sometimes echoed in Giles’ dreams even today, waking him from sleep by tumbling him off the stained mattress onto the floor of their garbage-strewn flat. Ethan, the charismatic chaos worshipper whose mercurial temper and flashes of outright cruelty had, if not created Ripper, then certainly nurtured the fledgling seeds of him into full growth. Ripper had been obsessed with Ethan, the man who’d introduced his still naive self to the ecstatic pleasures to be found in chaos and in living solely for the moment. 

He’d loved them all, or thought he had during those nights of mindless passion. Months of reckless stunts and unbelievable pleasures such as he’d never dreamed existed nor come close to experiencing since, followed by disaster and death, tearing them apart so thoroughly that none of them had ever spoken to each other since. 

Now there was only Ethan and himself left to remember those days. Ethan, who had provoked Ripper out of hiding with a few well-chosen barbs. It had taken him less than five minutes to prove to Rupert that the Ripper was alive and well and aching to be free of his prison of tweed and respectability. 

God, what a fool he’d been to think the Ripper was dead. That crawling back to the Council and burying himself in the library would be enough to kill the thing inside him, leaving only staid, reliable Rupert.

He got up to pour himself another glass and crossed the room to stare out the window with unseeing eyes. When the dreams of Eyghon had returned, haunting his sleep with old terrors and equally old longings, he’d assumed it was an aberration. Almost to be expected after Halloween and seeing Ethan again after all these years. So sure that the genii surfacing in his dreams could be wrestled back into the bottle with nothing more than will. He wasn’t that man anymore, the one trying so desperately to fit himself back into the Council mold after being taken back in on sufferance. The one who’d thought that, so long as no one knew, he could indulge himself as he pleased with his shameful fantasies of degenerate pleasures alone in his flat at night.

Well, he was too old these days to lie in bed jerking off to old memories. 

The dreams were an aberration, he’d told himself. Nothing more than a flashback that could be easily dismissed, the evidence of their effect on him erased as simply as throwing the stained sheets in the washing machine. 

The dreams had woken something in him, though, and it hadn’t subsided with Eyghon’s death. Lying sleepless in his bed at night, his thoughts kept returning to the euphoria of those long-ago nights in London, when they’d experienced highs beyond those of any mere drug. When they’d known the power of a god and there was nothing they couldn’t do, nothing they wouldn’t try.

His body was aching to know again the pleasures they’d explored while under the influence of the extraordinary high that summoning Eyghon had brought. When there were no boundaries between them and they felt the others’ pleasure as keenly as they did their own, every nerve ending thrumming with sensation as they’d lost themselves in fucking each other for hours on end. 

Worse, his fantasies were turning in unacceptable directions. The dark-haired youth in his dreams these past few nights hadn’t been Ethan or Thomas, and Giles had woken to soiled sheets and self-disgust that knew no bounds. Xander was no jaded, sexually experienced libertine like the six of them had been. He was a young, inexperienced, heterosexual schoolboy and Giles had no business fantasizing about using him for his own pleasure.

Damn Ethan to hell for doing this to him, he thought wearily, and took another long swallow of whiskey.

He truly liked Jenny, could possibly grow to love her one day - if Eyghon hadn’t destroyed what had barely started between them. But he wasn’t giving up. He was going to give Jenny the time she’d asked for and put his sordid past behind him where it belonged. Let Jenny see that the Ripper was dead and Rupert was the man she’d thought he was before Eyghon and Ethan had opened her eyes to unpleasant truths. Aberrant thoughts of dark-eyed youths could go hang themselves, he wasn’t going to indulge himself with them any longer. He would be faithful to Jenny, in thought as well as actions, and regain control over his subconscious mind.

Decision reaffirmed, Giles settled himself back into his favorite chair and resolutely picked up the book he’d left on the table when his churning thoughts had made reading impossible. Sipping his drink slowly, he called on years of discipline, forcing himself to concentrate on the words on the page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Season 3 - post-Band Candy

The whiskey was calling to him from across the room with a siren’s allure and it was all Giles could do to ignore it. He’d visited enough old addictions this night to know better than to give in to that particular temptation just now. 

The memory of sex magic was alive in him tonight, nerve-endings vibrating with the once-familiar high like the magic was still flowing through his body, singing in his veins as if the spell had only just left his lips, and not an echo of ecstasy experienced more than two decades past.

His hands gripped the back of the chair with white-knuckled intensity and he bowed his head over them, struggling for control. God, on nights like this he almost wished he’d never given it up. Never left that selfish, hedonistic world behind for responsibilities and lonely nights with nothing more than his left hand and the memory of nights spent out of his mind on drugs and magic and fucking haunting him with pleasures he would never know again. 

Giles shook himself convulsively and forced himself through the familiar motions of making tea, filling the kettle and turning on the burner, his movements precise and controlled, resolutely ignoring the temptation to simply take down a tumbler and pour himself a full measure of oblivion.

He’d turned his back on that world for good reason and it was long past time he stopped indulging himself in fond remembrances. 

Not that Ethan Rayne was making it easy. His third visit to Sunnydale and this time he’d managed to achieve both town-wide mayhem and publicly humiliating Giles. He smiled grimly at the thought: Ethan was undoubtedly proud of himself for tonight’s work.

The kettle began to whistle and he lifted it off the burner, carefully pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves and leaving them to steep. He’d almost managed to put it behind him - the memories and emotions stirred by Eyghon and Ethan last year. He’d buried himself in his duties as Watcher, concentrating on Buffy’s Slayer training and working with Willow on magic. He knew it was unfair that he was leaving Xander out, the boy could use any training and attention Giles could spare from his official duties, but he hadn’t dared waver from his decision to keep a deliberate distance from the boy. The nightmare of Angelus’ return and the agony of losing Jenny had finished the job and Ethan had been relegated to the past, where he belonged.

Or so he’d thought, until tonight.

Returning alone to his apartment after Lurconis had been defeated, leaving the others to bring the squalling infants back to the hospital, Giles had had a moment of sheer relief, grateful that he hadn’t encountered Xander during his magic-fueled return to irresponsible youth. Bad enough that he and Joyce…. 

A wave of embarrassment swept over him. He had absolutely no idea of what he would say to the woman the next time they met. But at least she was an adult and they had been equally affected by the candy bars. All too easily, he could picture worse things that might have happened under the influence of that spell.

If Xander had been in his apartment this evening, Giles knew exactly what would have happened. With self-control and restraint non-existent, he would have acted on his illicit attraction to the boy, undoubtedly to Xander’s horror and disgust. Between Buffy, Cordelia, and Xander’s recent behavior around Willow; it was obvious the boy was completely heterosexual. 

But Xander’s possible response to any expression of interest on his part remained secondary. God knows there would be sufficient problems to deal with just from Buffy catching Joyce and himself kissing. If Buffy learned the full extent of his indiscretions with her mother, she would be upset and undoubtedly revolted by the thought of two “old” people behaving like randy teenagers. If she were ever to discover that her Watcher was attracted to one of her two best friends… Giles closed his eyes wearily at the very thought. Their whole relationship would crumble and the fallout would not only destroy his job and his career, it would put Buffy’s life in danger. No Slayer fought their best when emotionally off-balance. It was one of the reasons that Slayers were traditionally taught to sever all ties to family and friends. 

Once more cursing Ethan, Giles took down a teacup and filled it, refusing to give in to the temptation to add a shot of whiskey to the cup. He carried the tea into the living room and sat down heavily on the couch. Sipping the hot liquid, he waited for it to have its usual calming effect.

The worst part of the whole sordid business was that he couldn’t even begin to convince himself that he was in love with Xander or any such sentimental clap-trap. His feelings for Xander were misplaced lust, nothing more. A completely inappropriate desire to relive the excesses of his youth. The irresistible lure of knowing how little it would take to seduce the boy. Unused to any kindness or attention from adults, Xander responded to anything but outright contempt with puppy-like eagerness and Giles hated the fact that he knew exactly what it would take to manipulate the boy, how his upbringing and insecurities could be used to mold him into what Giles wanted. 

And he wanted it. No matter how much he despised himself for it, he couldn’t hide that fact from himself. He could only hope that he could continue to conceal his inappropriate desires from the children.

Xander deserved better. The boy had a number of good qualities, but he was still a child and Giles absolutely refused to let himself take advantage of the boy. It was bad enough that he was allowing Xander to fight alongside Buffy without any training, but he didn’t trust himself to undertake that task. There had been too many late night fantasies over the past two years to believe that he wouldn’t abuse the close contact training required. All he could do was continue on as before: keeping a careful distance between himself and Xander until this damned inconvenient physical attraction went away.

That and pray that Ethan was done with his bloody annoying drop-by’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Season 4 - The Harsh Light of Day 

“Is everything alright?” Giles asked with studied casualness as Xander came back into the apartment, thankfully alone. He had not permitted himself to eavesdrop on Xander and Anya’s conversation out in the courtyard. “What did she want?”

Xander shook his head. “I’m not really sure.” He looked genuinely confused. “Did you ever have one of those conversations where you have no idea of what the other person was talking about?”

“Frequently,” Giles said dryly. He hesitated, not sure if he had the right to ask any more questions, especially when Xander didn’t seem inclined to talk about it. As Xander picked up a small stack of books and began shelving them, Giles took it as a signal that Xander didn’t want to discuss it any further.

Having Anya burst in on them had been a shock. Not just because she’d entered without knocking - no one seemed to find it necessary to knock on his door - but because of his own reaction to seeing her. Giles hadn’t understood the flash of intense hostility that had been his instantaneous reaction to Anya entering his apartment demanding to speak to Xander. The feeling had only increased as she’d practically dragged the bewildered boy outside and it had been surprisingly difficult not to physically intervene. 

He hadn’t been aware of disliking Anya. In fact, she had proved extremely useful just before graduation, providing them with their first helpful information about the Mayor’s ascension. Willow’s doppelganger aside, the details they’d learned of her past and the wish she’d granted for Cordelia had been safely abstract. By the time they learned of it, the Vengeance Demon Anyanka was no more and the alternate reality she’d created had been erased. He certainly hadn’t blamed her for fleeing town before graduation - really it was the only sensible course of action to take, and Anya must have been terrified: trapped in a newly human body, stripped of the powers she had relied on for a millennium and facing mortal death.

So why the fierce resentment at her sudden reappearance and continued interest in Xander? 

He couldn’t possibly be jealous. Not over a boy he’d barely ever looked at twice in that fashion and whom he had long since recognized that any feelings he had towards were utterly inappropriate and mere remnants of his own sordid past. Something he never intended to act on. 

The idea was ridiculous. He hadn’t felt even had a twinge of resentment over Anya being Xander’s date at the prom last spring - although it was possible that that was due to the boy’s obvious discomfort and the fact that he’d spent nearly the entire night trying not to be alone with Anya, Giles couldn’t help remembering.

He didn’t know why his mind chose this particular moment to recall his own words to Wesley on Prom Night: “For God’s sake, man, she’s 18. Have at it and stop fluttering about.” He suspected there had been a cutting remark about Wesley’s maturity in that speech as well. But Wesley pursuing Cordelia Chase was one thing and there was a world of difference between Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and himself, Giles reminded himself sternly. Wesley was barely 10 years older than the children, if that, while Giles himself was more than 20 years older than Xander. However poor a job he’d made of it, he was also somewhat in the position of being a father-figure to Xander, which Wesley had certainly never been to Cordelia. For Wesley and Cordelia to have some sort of fling was a far different proposition than for Giles to seduce a heterosexual boy who thought of him, if not as a father, then certainly as a mentor.

And yet… Seeing Xander on prom night had been a revelation. The boy had been stunning: his light for once not hidden under a bushel. The tuxedo had shown off his long, slender frame, and the dark color had flattered him in a way his usual colorfully awfully wardrobe did not. Like that glimpse of the hyena-possessed Xander back in sophomore year, prom night had shown Xander’s potential. And that evening, Xander had looked that good without the predatory darkness. At the Prom, Xander had been happy and lighthearted and mouth-wateringly gorgeous. It had been a relief to have the boy return to his normal baggy, ill-fitting clothing after that night. For the remainder of the school year, Giles had worked hard to repress the memory of just how good Xander had looked in that borrowed tux.

When Xander had appeared on his doorstep last week after his summer away, Prom Night had been far from Giles’ mind. Hearing Xander’s tale of the fiasco that had been his summer and learning of his financial woes, Giles had offered to pay him to build bookcases and help reorganize his books. Certainly the job needed to be done, but he’d sighed inwardly as he made the offer, not relishing the prospect of poorly built bookcases and several uninterrupted days alone with Xander.

But the last few days had not been the chore he’d expected. It turned out that Xander was skilled at building things and he’d been surprised to find himself enjoying the boy’s company. So much so that he’d begun to wonder - idly, of course - if Xander was quite so resolutely heterosexual after his summer away. The Fabulous Ladies Nightclub - just where did one put the emphasis in that name? 

Giles found himself pondering that question again as his hands automatically sorted the books that had been so hastily shoved into boxes before Graduation. Wondering if the male employees that Xander casually mentioned had been kitchen workers or dancers, and whether Xander had ever indulged his curiosity by watching the show. 

It was nothing more than idle speculation, of course. He was no longer Buffy’s Watcher officially, or even unofficially really, but he would never jeopardize his relationship with her by - Giles found himself grimacing at the word - dating one of her friends. Given Buffy’s open revulsion last week at finding him with an age-appropriate peer like Olivia, he could only imagine her reaction to his expressing an interest in Xander.

Which undoubtedly meant that Xander would react the same way. Giles was too old and very much the wrong sex for Xander to be interested in him. Nothing had changed in that regard. And if Giles had indulged himself once or twice by picturing Xander as a stripper, well that was no one’s business but his own. 

He slammed a book onto the shelf with a bit too much force, causing Xander to glance over at him in surprise. He had to stop thinking about this. The whole notion of a relationship with Xander was impossible. An aberration. Just because he’d felt a trifle lonely, a bit useless over the summer, was no reason to consider starting a relationship with someone so completely inappropriate. 

Granted, Xander was a bit quieter after his summer away. A trifle less inclined to make inappropriate jokes. Or perhaps…. Giles frowned, perhaps this slightly more serious side to the boy was only when Xander and he had been alone. Xander still made jokes but mostly when he was feeling insecure. Thinking back over their conversations, he realized that Xander tended to be at his most exasperating immediately after saying something important. Almost as if he were trying to distract the listener from what he’d just said. 

Over the course of several days, Xander had let slip a number of important concerns: his worries about whether his friends would forget him - the only one among them who hadn’t gone to college. His lack of job skills. His uncertain future. Then would come the jokes about living in his parents’ basement, and needing to find work anywhere that would take him - fast food joint, phone sex operator, vampire bait. The self-deprecating humor that Giles had so often in the past found both annoying and inappropriately timed was obviously a defense mechanism. It seemed so clear now that he wondered why he’d never realized it before. 

Perhaps it was because he had a tendency to tune Xander out, not understanding his references and uncomfortable with his occasional physical reaction to the boy. He’d never spent any significant amount of time with Xander that didn’t involve a crisis, and had actively tried to avoid being alone with him for any length of time. Now he was learning that, when Xander was comfortable and sure of himself, he was someone whose company Giles enjoyed. With Giles no longer demanding that Xander do research that would have taxed a trained Watcher, Xander didn’t feel the need to blather on nervously to cover for his own perceived inadequacies. It was troubling for Giles to realize just how much he’d pushed the children during the school year, and he winced as he recalled more than one occasion when he’d snapped at Xander, telling him to work or leave, knowing the boy wouldn’t leave when Buffy was in trouble, no matter how tired and stressed and in-over-his-head he felt.

Giles sighed. Xander needed to find his feet in the scary new world of young adulthood. Unlike Buffy, Willow and Oz, Xander didn’t have several years of college classes to help ease the transition to independence. The last thing he needed was an aging Lothario expressing an interest in him when he was struggling with so many other issues. 

He would enjoy these few days working with Xander, Giles told himself. There was no harm in getting to know the young man a bit better, find out what Xander was like now that he’d graduated and spent a summer on his own. No harm at all, given that he had no intention of acting on any attraction he might possibly be feeling. Xander would never know and undoubtedly familiarity would do its work and physical attraction would fade, leaving only an appropriate affection for a much younger friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Season 5 - post-The Gift

Buffy was dead. 

The words were carved into his soul. Undeniable. Inescapable. 

Buffy was dead. 

The thing he’d dreaded from the first instant he’d learned he was to be Watcher to the current Slayer had happened and there was no CPR that could bring her back this time. She’d sacrificed herself for Dawn, throwing herself off Glory’s tower into that tear in reality and had been dead long before her body hit the ground, and all that was left was a tombstone with an epitaph whose morbid humor had brought the first fleeting smile to his lips since he’d gathered up his Slayer’s broken body and carried it from the battlefield.

Buffy was dead. 

She’d been so beautiful, even in death. And maybe he would find some comfort in that recollection - one day. The look of peace on her face as she lay there: a warrior finally able to rest after battle, to lay down the burden she’d carried so long and so bravely. But for now, there was little comfort to be found in the thought. Just endless grief, his own and that of the others. Willow and Xander, who had grown up fighting alongside Buffy; Dawn, now the sole surviving Summers woman; even Spike, who’s heartbroken sobbing would have shocked Giles, if he’d been capable of feeling anything through the numbness of his own pain.

There was a time when he would have tried to fill the aching void with alcohol but this was beyond such petty comforts. His Slayer was dead and he had been useless to prevent it. All his training, everything he’d struggled to learn and to teach had meant nothing in the end. Buffy had still died, giving her life for Dawn without hesitation. Saving them all like the true heroine she was. 

He hadn’t been able to save her. Instead, he had more blood on his hands, more guilt on his soul. He’d taken an innocent life. Cold-bloodedly pinched the life out of an injured man, who’d been helpless to resist, in the name of the greater good. Ben’s life sacrificed to prevent Glory’s return. Just as he’d once helped kill Randall to try and stop Eyghon. At least with his first murder, they’d been trying to save Randall, his death hadn’t been the intended consequence of their bungled attempt to exorcise the demon. He had no such excuse with Ben. He’d killed the man deliberately and cold-bloodedly to deprive Glory of her host. Doing what he knew Buffy could not.

It had been the right thing to do. For Buffy and for the world. He just hadn’t realized how much it would cost him. 

He hadn’t told the others what he had done. Hadn’t wanted to burden them with his guilt when they were already crushed beneath their own grief and loss. Buffy had been too strong, they had all begun to believe in her invincibility. To believe that somehow she was immune to the fate of Slayers to die young and violently. Losing Buffy was more than any of them could bear and for weeks afterwards, they’d all been like sleepwalkers, just going through the motions of living. He’d done the best he could to help them but he feared that, in the end, he had been little use to any of them. Especially as time passed and they began to recover, while he remained mired in grief and guilt.

He knew he should go home. Back to England and whatever life he could rebuild for himself, without his Slayer, without the Council, without everything he’d spent his life training to be. Watchers who survived their Slayers were expected to return to England. Take their place among their peers with the self-satisfied knowledge that they had done their duty and accepting that Slayers were destined to die violently and early. Every Watcher expected to lose their Slayer and there was a certain protocol for how both sides handled it. Polite sympathy one the one side (“Hard luck, old man, losing your Slayer to that fill-in-the-blank demon. Tricky buggers, they’ve taken down more than a few Slayers.”), and suitably restrained sorrow and chagrin on the part of the Watcher (“Yes, a terrible loss. She fought well, there were just too many of them.”). 

Watchers weren’t supposed to be haunted by their Slayer’s death. They weren’t supposed to grieve as deeply as for a beloved daughter. They certainly weren’t supposed to spend the days and weeks after the death trying their best to help their Slayer’s friends and family come to terms with the loss and patrolling in their Slayer’s absence.

Oh, more than a few Watchers over the centuries had lost themselves in vengeance. Hunting down the vampire that had killed their Slayer and either killing it or being killed themselves. If they survived, they returned to the fold, their lapse charitably forgiven; never mentioned except in whispered exchanges behind their backs. 

Bugger that. The Council had fired him and he owed them nothing. He wasn’t going to pretend that Buffy’s death hadn’t shaken him to his foundations. His Slayer was dead, and all they had left was her memory and that obscene parody that Spike had commissioned. 

Unlike himself, none of the rest of them seemed to feel the desire to tear that blasted robot to pieces. He knew the robot was necessary to the pretense that the Slayer was still patrolling the Hellmouth. But it was a constant, devastating reminder of what they had lost and at times, Giles thought he’d go mad if he had to hear that relentlessly perky voice one more time or see the thing respond with chipper incomprehension to the pain it caused just by existing.

In truth, the others were doing better than he was. They were still grieving, still flinching when mention of Buffy caught them off guard. Still inclined to falter and fall silent in the midst of conversation, but the tears had gradually faded and sometimes laughter would fill the shop and, for a moment, everything would be like it was before. 

Except nothing would be the same, ever again. Not for him.

But the others were beginning to recover and didn’t need him anymore. They had each other and Giles was more and more certain that he was no longer needed here. He’d begun talking about leaving, preparing them, and they had all made polite noises about his staying. They would miss him, but they no longer needed him to prop them up and keep them going from day to day. They were adults now, except for Dawn, and Dawn had five older siblings to look out for her. The magic shop had been something to fill his time, then later a place to train with Buffy and to research with the group. He wasn’t emotionally attached to the store the way Anya was. 

Part of him longed to return home. Watching the two couples just reminded him of how lonely he was. Tara had become Willow’s anchor, he was no longer needed to teach or guide her in the wise use of her gifts. Xander was a man now, with a good job and in a solid relationship. He didn’t need Giles hanging about, watching with a trace of envy as Xander showed daily how much he cared for Anya. 

He’d long since accepted that there would never be anything more than friendship between himself and Xander. It was plain that Xander truly loved Anya and Giles was proud of the way Xander coped with Anya’s many eccentricities, his endless patience over the past two years as he had helped her adjust to being human again. 

No, it was time to slip away before he wore out his welcome. Time to return home and find a way to survive Buffy’s death. Give these young adults their freedom to follow their paths without his interference.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Season 6 - post-Grave

He hated hospitals. Not an original thought, of course, but he’d spent far too much time in them as both patient and visitor and was entitled to the opinion. Especially at times like this, when he was both patient and worried friend. Hospitals had too many rules. Oh, undoubtedly there were good reasons for those rules but they were frustrating all the same. And the fact that bedridden patients weren’t allowed even short visits to another patient’s room was currently a source of enormous frustration.

Buffy had assured him that Xander was going to be fine but Giles wanted to see for himself. He was worried that Xander’s physical injuries might be just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. There was a strong possibility that Xander had suffered mystical damage that the doctors wouldn’t recognize and wouldn’t know how to treat if they did realize something was wrong. 

He’d felt what happened on Kingman’s Bluff, the magic Willow had taken from him had formed a connection between them, allowing him to sense what she was feeling. He’d felt her lash out at Xander with the same killing rage she’d already turned on Buffy and himself. Xander had stopped Willow, where he and Buffy had failed, although the victory had nearly cost the boy his life.

It wasn’t supposed to have happened this way. The plan had been to break through Willow’s grief and rage by infusing her with the living spirit of magic. Letting the clean energy from the coven purge her of the stolen dark magics that were fueling her destructive fury. But they’d underestimated her. They hadn’t anticipated Willow stealing so much magic: from the books, from Rack - another who fed on stolen magics and was stronger than he should have been. Nor had they realized how quickly she would spiral out of control. Willow had killed two people: Warren and Rack. And while neither of them were innocents, they were both human.

Because of that, the magic of the coven hadn’t been enough to bring her back from the dark place she’d gone to. It had dampened her rage but that just let the grief over Tara’s senseless death flood through her, grief still in its first unbearable freshness. Willow had still been lost to reason and all Giles had accomplished was to convince her that the only way to end her own suffering and that of everyone else was by destroying the world. 

They owed their lives to Xander. He’d saved them all, just by refusing to give up on Willow. Against all odds, love truly had won the day. The love of a friend had gotten through to Willow where Buffy’s Slayer strength and the most powerful of magics had been useless. 

It was both humbling and awe inspiring.

He’d never expected it to be Xander who confronted Willow, he’d assumed it would be Buffy. Which was why he’d sent Anya with the message that Slayer strength couldn’t stop Willow. He hadn’t wanted Buffy to confront Willow with violence, just to remind her that life was worth living and that Tara would not have wanted Willow to do this. He’d assumed that invoking Tara’s name would be the way to reach Willow.

But fate had sent Xander to face Willow, not Buffy, and Giles suspected that they would all be dead now and the world destroyed if not for that fact. Buffy was a warrior, trained to meet violence with violence and that had already proved futile, doing nothing but sending Willow deeper into darkness. Xander had faced Willow with nothing but the stubborn courage he had always shown in battle, his willingness to throw himself weaponless against invincible enemies to save his friends, and his life-long love for his best friend.

Giles had felt it, that moment when Willow flinched, as the dark power she’d hurled at Xander had done its work, throwing Xander across the field and slamming him to the ground. Willow had hesitated for one second; faltered momentarily in the face of Xander’s pain, pain that she had deliberately caused, and Giles had dared feel hope for the first time. The coven’s magic may have opened a crack in the solid wall of rage, but Xander’s unwavering love had been what crept inside and reached Willow, pulling her back from the brink. 

None of the rest of them could have done it. Stood there and let Willow attack again and again without fighting back. And it hadn’t been a bluff or some kind of plan. Xander had been willing to lay down his own life in the hope that, if nothing else, his death would stop Willow, would find a way through the madness of her grief and bring her back to them.

Lying on the rubble-strewn floor of the Magic Box, in those first moments of dazed realization that he was possibly going to survive after all, and the world along with him, had caused Giles to ponder his childhood religious training in a way he hadn’t done in nearly 30 years. Given his lifelong commitment to training a warrior, it was something of a shock to discover that turning the other cheek really could be the most powerful weapon there was.

Giles would recover. His own injuries were primarily physical, the energy stolen from him had been borrowed energy, not his own life-force. It was Xander he was worried about. Willow had been channeling immensely powerful magics to raise the temple and Xander had used his own body to block the flow of magic. There was no telling what that could have done to him. 

Once again, Giles cursed his own weakness and the hospital policy that prevented him from seeing Xander. 

Leaving Sunnydale had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He’d thought it was the right decision at the time. Buffy was leaning on him too much, and the others seemed to be transitioning into adulthood, no longer needing a father-figure. Willow had been chafing at his authority, and Xander had a good job, something that looked to becoming a solid career, and he and Anya seemed settled and happy.

How had it all gone so wrong?.

He would have to take Willow away from here. There was no familiar place in town she could find a haven. Buffy’s house had become a place of horror for them all with Tara’s blood still spattered on the wall and soaked into the carpet. The Magic Box was destroyed, no-one would even be able to safely enter the building until the support beams had been repaired. The only place Giles could think to safely take Willow was back to England and turn her over to the Devonshire coven. They would be able to do what he had so spectacularly failed at: train and guide her. Assess her strength and teach her to use her power wisely. And, if necessary, to restrain her and contain her power.

It was the only thing that made sense. To let Willow find herself again. Give her a fresh start in the quiet green fields of England, away from the Hellmouth and the constant struggle that came with assisting the Slayer.

He’d stay long enough to see Xander, to make sure he was going to be alright. To tell Xander how proud he was of him. And that was all. He would say nothing of the feelings he had for the young man, or how those feelings had grown as he learned how much he’d missed Xander while he’d been in England. There was no point. He may have felt an unworthy pang of happiness that Xander and Anya were no longer a couple, but that didn’t change the fundamental fact that Xander had no interest in men in general, and none whatsoever in Giles.

He would stay just long enough to attend Tara’s funeral and mourn with the others for the shy, gentle woman who’d been so briefly part of their lives. Then he’d take Willow back to England and pray the others would be able to pick up the pieces of their lives and go on one more time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Season 7 - post-Dirty Girls

Dawn was holding Xander’s hand between both of hers, silent tears sliding down her cheeks and dropping unheeded onto her lap as she sat beside the hospital bed, her eyes never leaving Xander’s face. Xander slept the heavy sleep of the deeply drugged, unaware of her presence or her grief. Even lying with his head turned towards the far wall didn’t hide the extensive bandaging that covered half his face. 

Giles watched them for long moments, struggling to gain control of his own emotions, before he trusted himself to speak. “Dawn,” he said quietly.

She turned her head to look at him as he stood in the doorway of the room. 

“It’s late. You need some rest.” She stirred, ready to argue, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. “I’ll sit with him.”

Dawn looked back at Xander, raising his hand to her lips and kissing it gently. “How could this happen to him?” she asked brokenly. “It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not,” Giles agreed. “He didn’t deserve this. None of them did,” he added, thinking of all those young girls lying wounded in beds down the hall, and the less seriously injured but no less demoralized girls back at the house. “Dawn, I don’t want to sound trite, but it is unfortunately all too true that terrible things happen to good people.”

“Do you think Caleb knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That Xander sees things,” Dawn said. She looked up at Giles, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I told him that was his power and then this happened.” Seeing Giles’ puzzlement, she shook her head. “Never mind.” 

Giles looked at her curiously. It didn’t sound like she was shaking off a silly thought, more that she was unwilling to share something that was between her and Xander. He watched as she bent to kiss Xander’s forehead above the bandages and then slowly released his hand and moved reluctantly towards the door. 

“If he wakes up, tell him I’ll be back in the morning,” she told him. 

“I will.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze as she passed him, then sat down in the chair she’d vacated. 

Things were falling apart. Buffy was stretched so thin she was close to snapping. Willow was hanging on by a thread to her control over her magic, the Potentials terrified and unprepared for the deaths and injuries they had seen tonight. All of them were in over their heads as their enemies became legion and none of them had any idea of how to fight the First. 

And now this. Xander had been permanently maimed. Giles wasn’t sure any of them would survive this latest blow. Xander was one of the linchpins holding them together. An average guy, with no special skills, who’d survived for seven years fighting beside the Slayer. A good man, fighting not because it was his destiny, but because it was how he’d chosen to live his life and because he was loyal to his friends. He didn’t think even Xander realized how important he was to morale in that overcrowded, tension-filled house.

Buffy was mishandling the situation. Maybe not strategy-wise, although Giles had his doubts about some of her recent decisions, but in the way she was relating to the people around her. As she’d grown more frustrated and short-tempered, Buffy was lashing out indiscriminately at all of them. She was treating the Potentials as hardened warriors not as frightened teenagers, and they weren’t ready for that. Anyone who wasn’t useful as a fighter - Anya and Andrew, even Dawn and Xander, was being pushed aside, even belittled at times for their inability to contribute. Granted, Anya and Andrew could be annoying and Giles was guilty of impatience with them himself, but they were both doing their best and Anya, at least, had centuries of knowledge and experience that shouldn’t be taken lightly. Dawn was turning into a fine researcher and it worried Giles that Buffy, who had been so protective of Dawn during the battle with Glory, as often as not was ignoring Dawn and her very real contributions in favor of the more obvious help of the fighters in their group.

As for Xander… Certainly, the house wouldn’t be fit to live in without Xander’s tireless work repairing what got broken. And he very much feared that, without Xander, the Potentials would be either deserting in droves or in full-blown mutiny against Buffy’s leadership. Giles had heard about the speech he’d made to the Potentials: the girls had been talking about it after the fighters had left. He’d never known Xander had that kind of eloquence and he’d been so proud of him. 

Looked at him now, Giles almost wished Xander hadn’t rallied the frightened girls into a fighting force. If they’d all refused to go, maybe Buffy would have re-thought her reckless plan and no-one would have died this night. And Xander might still have both eyes.

Xander deserved so much more than this. He deserved friends who respected him as well as loved him. All too often, Giles had been aware that Buffy and even Willow, looked down on Xander. Unconsciously, to be sure. They would have denied it, and sincerely believed they were telling the truth. But they spent more time belittling him than supporting him. Jokingly, of course, but he’d watched Xander hide his pain and insecurities behind self-deprecating humor for too many years not to know when Buffy and Willow were unintentionally hurting him.

And they weren’t the only ones. 

This was the second time in barely a month that Xander had come close to being killed. Giles was as guilty as the rest of them in not recognizing and acknowledging Xander’s pain after the first attempt. Xander had been stabbed in the gut with a sword so that his blood would open the Hellmouth and all of them had laughed about it, joking around as if it was no more significant than just another disastrous date. 

A Khindarr demon had tried to kill him. They were stronger than humans, it had tossed both Buffy and Spike about like nine-pins before Buffy had been able to behead it. Xander had been tied up and helpless and they had all followed Xander’s lead in turning the incident into a joke; just another example of Xander’s bad luck with women. The next day, he’d been back at work repairing things around the house as if he healed as fast as a Slayer, and Giles knew that wasn’t true. 

“I’m so sorry, Xander. Sorry for failing you. For not being a better person. For never telling you how I feel: how proud I am of you, and how much I admire you. I’m sorry that it’s taken something like this to bring the words out of me.” The sound he made was half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m a coward. I should have said these things years ago, and I’m only able to speak now because you can’t hear me. I love you, Xander. I’m in love with you.”

It was terrifying to hear the words spoken out loud and Giles waited for a long moment, sure that fate was about to play tricks on him by having Xander be awake, but the steady, deep breaths didn’t alter and he sighed in relief. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve had feelings for you for a long time now and I’m sure you’ve never noticed. I know that you don’t think of me that way and I’ve long since accepted that I’m not what you want. But I’ve almost lost you twice now in just a few weeks and there is a good chance that none of us may survive the coming battle.” He trailed off, not really sure any longer what he was trying to say. If it was to state his feelings for the record before they all died in the coming battle, he was fairly sure that saying them to an unconscious person didn’t count. 

But how would it help to tell Xander that he loved him? The last thing any of them needed right now was more distractions, more tension. Telling Xander would accomplish nothing. There would be no passionate love-making before battle, nothing but awkwardness and avoidance. No, far better if he left things as they were. Even if the improbable happened and Xander welcomed his affections, he knew Xander too well to think that this was the right time. Xander’s lifelong insecurities would lead him to believe that Giles had spoken solely out of pity. 

Maybe if they all survived the First… Maybe he would speak then. When Xander had adjusted to the loss of his eye. For now, Giles took Xander’s hand in his own and held it, settling in for the long night, determined to be there when Xander woke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

16 months later - 

“Xander, welcome home.” 

Giles didn’t even attempt to hold back his smile as he reached forward to shake Xander’s hand. He was surprised and pleased when Xander ignored the outstretched hand and enfolded him in a bear hug.

“Giles!”

Stepping back, pleased but a trifle flustered, Giles took a moment to study Xander closely. He almost hadn’t recognized the tall, lean figure that had emerged from customs striding towards him with energy and bounce. 

Xander was darkly tanned, his hair longer than Giles had ever seen it and pulled back into a ponytail. He was lean as a greyhound, the black eye patch still a jarring sight - one Giles thought he would never truly get used to. More importantly though, Xander looked happy. The fatigue and depression that had clung to him in the months after the battle with the First had vanished completely. Xander had gone to Africa looking 10 years older than his actual age - worn out and tired of life, still grieving for the ones who hadn’t made it out of Sunnydale. The infrequent email contacts they’d had, sent from anywhere Xander had been able to find an available computer, had chronicled Xander’s slow rejuvenation, and the emails gradually became longer and full of wonder for the continent he was discovering, traveling through villages and open savannahs as he followed leads on possible Slayers.

Xander had proved gifted at finding Slayers, beyond anything Giles could have hoped. Despite cultural and language barriers, Xander seemed able to inspire confidence in even the most suspicious tribal elders, convincing them to entrust their daughters to him, to send them off with the stranger to be trained. 

“God, it’s good to see you!” Xander exclaimed, interrupting his train of thought. “You look great!”

“And you…” Giles returned. “I would hardly recognize you.”

Xander laughed, the joyful sound reminding Giles of the boy he’d first met, all those years ago. When had Xander stopped laughing like that? It shamed him that he couldn’t remember. 

“Some serious battery re-charging took place in Africa,” Xander said, still grinning. “But how come you’re here instead of some low-level flunky?” he asked, stooping to pick up the worn duffle bag he’d dropped on the floor. “You do have flunkies now, right?”

“I’ve missed you,” Giles admitted truthfully. “Plus, I hoped that my face would be a trifle more welcome than Andrew’s.” 

“It is,” Xander assured him.

The carry-on was all Xander was traveling with, despite Giles’ distinct recollection of Xander leaving for Africa with a large suitcase. As they headed for the car-park, he couldn’t help stealing sideways glances at Xander, still marveling over the changes in the younger man.

During the past year, while Xander has been in Africa, the two of them had been corresponding by email. When he’d realized that the only way he’d be able to communicate with Xander was through email, Giles discovered that he was able to overcome his dislike of computers. It turned out that writing an email could be very like writing a letter, just using a typewriter instead of a pen. 

After an awkward beginning, exchanging little more than news on Xander’s progress in finding Slayers and comments on their respective weather, they’d gradually grown more comfortable, and the emails had gotten longer. Giles had sought Xander’s advice on issues with rebuilding the Council and he’d discovered that Xander was surprisingly good at finding solutions to interpersonal problems - a legacy of his foreman experience with the construction company. With little or no access to television or other types of entertainment, Xander had begun to read the books he picked up as he traveled, often books that had been left behind by other travelers. As a result of having to take what he could find, Xander had read an astonishing variety of books over the past year. Giles never knew if Xander’s most recent email would contain his thoughts on Steinbeck and Tolstoy or - as it had on one memorable occasion - a detailed tongue-in-cheek summary of the non-existent plot of a trashy romance novel of the sort that featured a brawny, bare-chested hero clasping a scantily clad wench in his arms on the jacket cover. He knew that for a fact since Xander had insisted on describing the cover art in the email. Giles hadn’t laughed so hard in years as he had over that description.

Now, together again on the same continent and in the same car, Giles found he wasn’t sure what to say. His feelings for Xander had grown as he’d gotten to know the younger man better in this past year than he had in all the previous years they’d known each other, but there had been the safety of distance and the comforting familiarity of friendship about their email exchanges. Giles found himself almost wishing for a computer as he glanced across at Xander again.

“Careful,” Xander said. “If you keep that up, I’m going to start thinking you’re checking me out.”

Giles froze, appalled at having given himself away, but Xander had sounded amused more than anything. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Giles told him with a smile. “Strictly professionally, of course,” he added, knowing he was flirting and not caring since Xander either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Oh, well, as long as it’s just professional interest, you won’t mind that I’m doing the same thing.” 

To Giles’ surprise, Xander proceeded to give him a thorough once-over, and he realized with shock that Xander was flirting back.

It was better after that. Giles knew he was smiling too broadly, but he felt almost giddy with happiness as the awkwardness faded and they were suddenly talking comfortably during the drive to his flat. He had prepared a number of excuses for why Xander should stay in his guest room instead of any of the other options open to him, but the subject never came up. Fortunately, other than a hotel or one of the emergency rooms at the new Council building, there weren’t all that many other choices. Buffy and Dawn were still in Italy; Willow had left Kennedy and gone on a spiritual retreat to Nepal - at least in part, Giles suspected, to avoid having to deal with the torrent of blaming calls and emails that Kennedy had unleashed on the rest of them following the bitter breakup. Faith and Robin were still in Cleveland, and Xander had come back from Africa after Giles had decreed that a year was the outer limit for anyone to be traveling alone on Council business.

He wasn’t planning on telling Xander exactly why he’d decided to implement that particular rule. 

Other than Andrew, Giles was the only one of the Sunnydale group still in London. And now Xander, if he was willing to stay. 

“I’d planned to have you stay with me,” he said, a bit too casually, as they approached his exit off the M25. “But, of course, if you…”

“Your place sounds great,” Xander said firmly, cutting him off. “If you’ve got room, I’d love to stay with you.”

“There’s plenty of room,” Giles told him. “It will be good to have company. I’m afraid I don’t know quite what to do with a flat where people actually knock before entering. Very disconcerting.”

Xander laughed. “Well, if we could have been sure you were conscious, we probably would have knocked.”

“I wasn’t knocked unconscious nearly as often as all of you like to claim. It really was quite a rare occurrence.”

“Just keep telling yourself that, Giles,” Xander said comfortingly.

~~~~~

It felt right to have Xander in his flat. They made dinner together, moving around each other in the tiny kitchen with an ease more usual to long-term partners than two people cooking together for the first time. Giles found himself smiling frequently, enjoying the company. He’d been too busy with the Council, too focused on the work that needed doing to make new friends or look up old ones, and was only now realizing how lonely he’d been. 

Xander had learned to cook in Africa and as he expertly chopped and sliced, he kept Giles laughing with stories about his early, disastrous encounters with African food. Dinner was casual and congenial as they caught each other up on the latest word from the rest of the far flung members of the Sunnydale group. Giles was so proud of all of them. They’d weathered storms that would have destroyed lesser people and they’d done it as mere children. Now they were adults and they’d all chosen to remain in the fight, all of them having changed and grown through the years.

Afterwards, as Xander leaned against the kitchen counter watching Giles wash their few dishes, he cocked his head and asked: “So, what’s next?”

Somehow it was as natural as breathing to answer that question by leaning over and kissing Xander. Just a gentle, exploratory kiss that deepened as Xander didn’t pull away. Giles found his hands lifting to cup Xander’s head, his thumbs brushing lightly over the tanned skin of his cheeks, as his lips moved against Xander’s and he tasted for the first time the lips that had featured in his dreams for more years than he cared to remember. 

Xander’s hands on his shoulders broke the kiss and Giles lifted his head, aware suddenly that Xander had gone completely motionless.

“Wow,” Xander said thoughtfully after a brief pause. “Umm…I actually meant what’s next, work-wise.” 

Giles stepped back, appalled that he’d misread the situation so completely. “Xander, I’m so sorry. This won’t happen again.” He was terrified that Xander would leave, unable to accept what had just happened.

“Giles, it’s ok. I dated Anya, remember? There’s not a whole lot of things I haven’t tried at least once. I’m not freaking out. Ok, I am freaking a little, but mostly because I didn’t see that coming.”

Giles ducked his head, color flaming in his cheeks and thinking that it was absurd that he was blushing at his age. “I’ve-I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, Xander,” he confessed. “It was just never…” Never the right time. Always too much else going on. Never thinking Xander would welcome his advances. 

Well, maybe this was finally the right time. The right place. The right moment. “I love you, Xander.” He spoke calmly, but his heart was pounding in his chest as he searched Xander’s face for his reaction.

A series of expressions chased each other across Xander’s expressive face: shock, surprise, uncertainty, and finally, an almost shy pleasure. “I don’t know what to say. That’s…” He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “I thought about you a lot this past year, Giles. I missed you. And there were some late night thoughts that surprised the heck out of me. But it never occurred to me…” His eye scanned Giles’ face. “Really?”

“Really,” Giles told him firmly, daring to allow himself to feel hope. “I realized I’d fallen in love with you when you almost died at Kingman’s Bluff. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because it wasn’t the right time. I didn’t want to burden you with my unwanted feelings, especially not then. Too much had just happened, and I knew I’d have to leave again, to take Willow back to England. I told you last year, when you were in hospital,” he offered.

Xander frowned. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”

“Well, you were unconscious at the time, but I assure you I said it,” he admitted sheepishly.

Xander started laughing. “Maybe we are destined to be together, if that’s your idea of a declaration of love.”

‘Destined to be together.’ Giles liked the sound of that. He leaned forward again, slowly, giving Xander time to pull away, but Xander met him halfway, and this time the kiss was mutual, and Giles closed his eyes and let himself fall into the sensations. Xander’s mouth moved hesitantly against his, obviously cataloguing the differences in kissing a man instead of a woman, before gaining confidence. His tongue traced the outline of Giles’ lips and Giles’ mouth opened and their tongues met. Sensation exploded in him as his tongue dueled with Xander’s and he lost himself in the kiss.

When at long last they both pulled back slightly, Xander was smiling. 

End


End file.
